


Miscellaneous Plotbunnies

by Lucidsilver



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Stargate Atlantis Setting, Amnesia, Artificial Intelligence, Divinity, Don't Examine This Too Closely, Execution, Identity Issues, Magic-Users, Muses, OC Wraith, Original Character(s), Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Plotbunnies, Racism, Snippets, Wraith Hybrid, one shots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-26
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-26 23:41:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9931844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucidsilver/pseuds/Lucidsilver
Summary: Unfinished ideas from various fandoms that I may develop and  work on at a later date.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Amnesiac Altmer Dovahkiin Fahliil

He heard them before he saw them. The heavy hooves of the massive horses both muffled and too loud for him to place at first with the pulsing ache against his temples. Each step jostled the rickety wooden cart and worsened his already pounding headache. The scents that pervaded his nostrils sickened him, the sharp scent of pine in the cool air doing little to cover the overwhelming stench of unwashed bodies and the musk of the horses that made his lip curl.

He slipped to and fro between spurts lucidity and a murky dimness he couldn’t quite fully shake off. It wasn’t until he tried to raise a hand to sooth his aching temples that passing out was suddenly the furthest thing from his mind. 

They were bound, rather tightly in fact. Jerking ramrod straight with his eyes snapped open. Immediacy he could feel himself pale, hunching as he fought against the urge to be sick, head aching with a fierce vengeance. The fact that he couldn’t recall anything that could have led to his current situation, bound like a criminal didn’t help anything.  
Dimly he was aware of a fair-haired man sitting across from him, hands similarly held bound in front of him trying to get his attention. Biting back a groan he slowly straightened struggling to pay attention to who could only be a fellow prisoner.

“Hey, you alright now?”

Blinking blearily, all he could do was nod slowly keeping his head bowed and shielded by messy strands of dark hair. He was still hyper aware of each jostle of the cart rattling deep in his bones and igniting sharp aches in his temples. Perhaps he had been hit over the head, drinking never appealed to him much, that much he felt hesitantly sure was true. It was the only explanation he could think of for the thrumming in his skull.

“Good, glad you’re finally awake after passing out earlier. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there.”

As the man spoke, his head ache waned, fortunately quickly enough that he could fully open his eyes without the surrounding light driving painful daggers into his skull through his eyes. As his nose and ears confirmed, he, or they rather were in a wooden horse drawn cart surrounded by a forest of pines.

The air was chilly, evident by the sharpness and the hovering mist. The driver of the cart sat straight with his attention on the road and the carts ahead. He was lightly armored, dressed in brown leather over a short-sleeved red under shirt and a stiff brown helmet over his head.

All this he took in as he lifted his head and turned his eyes to a small scruffy looking man with dark worried eyes and a fierce scowl directed at his bound wrists rubbed red and raw. Despite the injury, he seemed to be unconsciously of his continued efforts of trying to free himself.

“Damn you Stormcloaks, Skyrim was fine until you came along.” Wild dark and angry eyes rose to fix the blond with a smoldering glare even as his posture shifted from resigned to defiant, shoulders raised aggressively and a dark smirk pulling up the side of his mouth. “Empire was nice and lazy. If you hadn’t been around, I would have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell by now.”

The thief’s eyes darted around as if imagining his success before settling on him. The scent of fear and desperation was practically oozing from the man, and was just as visible with his hunched shoulders and body coiled as if fighting the urge to run with no were to go.

“You there...” He straightened slightly, wary with the twitching thief’s wild eyes fixated upon him and the unnerving intensity he spoke with. “You and me, we shouldn’t be here. It’s these Stormcloaks the Empire wants.”

Again, the Empire and Stormcloaks, both were said with some significance, an inflection as if they were supposed to mean something. They were unfamiliar and sounded foreign as he quietly mouthed the words to himself. He could practically taste the capitalization in both words. The fair haired man, the Stormcloak suggested he was caught trying to cross the border. 

Perhaps he was a foreigner, on his first visit to these lands. The tentative conclusion felt wrong in some way, the thought of travel was simultaneously frightening and exhilarating, suggesting he never liked it much. The filthy ragged clothes he wore felt to uncomfortably baggy and pinched in places to be his own so there was no clue there, Unless… 

“We’re all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief-” The man across from him said before he could ponder anymore.

“Shut up back there!” 

He managed to control his flinch, the sharp quick inhale interrupting his controlled breathing being the only sign to show for his surprise at the driver’s harsh unexpected command. For a long moment, the cart was silent as the soldier turned back to the road and the horses continued to plod forward.

“…Hey, what’s wrong with him huh?” The thief finally broke the tense silence with a quite mummer not quite to himself. 

The amnesiac looked up from his rag bound feet which he had been silently eyeing, torn between confusion and disgust at their surprisingly good condition despite the lack of shoes and being covered dirt. Following the thief’s head jerk, he met the narrowed side-eye glare of the final cart’s occupant. 

“Watch your tongue! You’re speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King.”

He hadn’t been ignoring the man sitting non-to far from him per say, but he hadn’t paid much attention to him after noting his bound hands and concluding he was just another prisoner. He had more important things on his mind such as the empty void were his memories should have been and the dread that mounted the longer he pondered his situation in a cart full of prisoners. The harshly delivered words of the Stormcloak, and the title of true High King made it obvious how wrong he was to do so and only enforced how bad it was the situation he was in was.

“Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You’re the leader of the rebellion. But if they’ve captured you…” Almost immediately the thief paled, face ashen and eyes widening even as his brooding glare turned into a look of dawning horror. The sudden change was concerning, and the snippets of a rebellion just as much.

Sitting up straighter, the amnesiac examined the now named Ulfric with a reasonable amount of unease, finding it surprisingly hard to break the stare of the bound and gagged man sitting on the cart’s bench next to him. His proud posture even in the face of being bound and gagged like a common criminal made up for the fact he looked average and unassuming to his eye, only distinguishable from the other prisoners by his clothing and subtly different hair and eye color. 

He wondered briefly if the difficulty he had of placing the three men’s faces as distinct even though he knew they were present variations between their features was a problem he had before his loss of memories, or if it was a side effect. Either way, he supposed it didn’t matter unless it was something he was well known by others for it.

“Oh, dear gods. Where are they taking us?” The horrified whisper was just another confirmation that being in the cart of a captured King, Jarl, or whatever title applied to… Ulfric Stormcloack was not a good thing. 

The other Stormcloak hesitate, eyes shifting and head lowering telling more than what words he spoke ever could. “I don’t know where we’re going, but Sovngarde awaits.” A burning chill tingled between his shoulder blades and skittered down his spine like a mass of biting insects. Uneasily, the amnesiac met the gaze of the thief chest tightening uncomfortably.

“No, this can’t be happening.” The thief’s agitated struggling against his bindings began again with a fervor but ended after a few pitiful moments with harsh gasping pants. “This isn’t happening…”

The man was not too far from tears much the amnesiac's discomfort and slightest twinge of near pity. From the corner of his eye he could see Ulfric roll his eyes and give short sound of disgust while the blond simply shifted uncomfortably throwing darting glances at him. He resolutely didn’t meet his gaze, following the Jarls example and looking away without breaking his impassive air. It was the only thing stopping him from joining the thief in tears.

With a quiet grumble of pointy eared bastard, the Stormcloak cleared his throat awkwardly, shuffling in place without even moving.  
“Hey, horse thief, what village are you from?”

“It hardly matters, i’ll never see it again.” His voice was raw from suppressed tears, but clear enough to be understandable. “…Why should you care?”

“A Nord’s last thoughts should be of home.” A quick glance showed that Ulfric was paying some attention now that the crying seemed done with, and the blond man across from him had a releived air about him. A smile honest, if a bit hesitant and minuscule was on his face. 

“I’m… Rorikstead. I’m from Rorikstead.”

The thought of home reminded him of the fact that unlike the three other men, he had none. Without his memories, he didn’t even know who or what he even was. None of the men had golden skin, and the comment about pointed ears only drew his attention to the fact that only his were elongated in such manner and moved while his companions were blunt and unmoving.

Although he refrained from doing so, the amnesiac had the feeling that the flowing warmth suffusing his body could be easily drawn out into the palms of his hands. That only made him hyper aware of his spindly long fingers and lack of hair anywhere other than his head. The nords as they identified themselves had strange furry brows and faces covered in hairs. It was strange and disconcerting, seeing something vaguely familiar warped into an unfamiliar visage.

Just as the Thief had calmed, one of the soldier’s voices rang out clearly that the headsman was waiting. They had arrived at the gates of a small town with him so deep in thought he hardly noticed. Standing in an elevated look out, a man reply was a foreshadow that didn’t spell out a pleasant end to the unpleasant cart ride. 

He was prevented from taking more than shallow breaths through his nose and out his mouth by the overwhelming stench of fear that the thief, the horse thief began radiating once again while muttering names and prayers to whatever gods he prayed to.

“Look at him, General Tullius, the Military Governor, looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves… had something to do…is Helgen…”

He stopped paying attention, eyes fixated on the tall imposing figures dressed in gold rimmed black hooded robes. Thalmor, the name had the same infliction to it, bearing some sort of significance that denoted the similar importance as some other foreign words the other prisoners had spoken. 

It was the word elves, spoken as if a curse combined with the tall dark golden skinned slender figures talking to the slight dull man in comparison that made the amnesiac’s blood pound in his ears and vision narrowing down to what he suddenly knew to be Altmer from the Summerset Isle.

They, were born naturally gifted in the arcane arts, skilled in a way that other races had to work for to even hope to match. The cart slowed to a halt even as the elf’s mind swirled with vague half remembered history of his rediscovered race. His eyes staring down at his faintly glowing gold skin and the smoothly flowing magic beneath it with new appreciation and even more confusion. His skinned had a faint yet obvious glow, theirs was dull in comparison.

“Hey,” The blond’s foot kicking his shin brought the dark-haired elf from his trance. “Let’s go, we shouldn’t keep the gods waiting for us.” 

Blinking out of his daze, the Altmer realized that the Stormcloak was already standing and besides him was the only one in the cart. Aware of the impatient soldiers fingering the hilt of their swords, reluctantly he stood. A small corner of his mind noting somewhat smugly as he followed, that he was a good head and taller than the other prisoner as he nimbly jumped from the cart and stepped nervously into line.

The thief was nearly unbearable to stand next to with his stench of fear forming an invisible cloud around him. Whites of his eyes red from crying and pupils blown wide, he shuffled like a cornered deer. And just like one, the Altmer knew the man’s mind was focused on nothing but escape. The imperial soldier with the list simply recited names.  
Ulfric stepped forward when called shoulders thrown back with his head held aloft, an admirable sort of arrogance not unlike an Altmer in the lines of the Jarl’s body. An nervous twitch pulled at the amnesiac elf’s jaw as the gagged man gave him one last sideways glance on his way to the block, and the headsman waiting at it. 

Next to the mer, the Stormcloak gave the Jarl a hopeless look of a man that knew there was no hope left, murmuring something the Altmer paid no attention to. Then, the blond-haired man’s name was called, allowing him to finally become aware of it. Ralof of Riverwood, not the most inspiring of names. Finally, like he expected him to but in a way the elf hadn’t quite expected, the thief snapped. With a yell filled with desperation and fear, the thief broke into a run, roughly shouldering past the Imperial Captain and sprinting towards the tree line. 

The dark-skinned soldier recovered almost instantly, spinning with her hand going for the hilt of her sword and yelling for the thief to halt. Internally were no one to confront him about it, the Altmer silently cheered the man on. He wasn’t mad enough to attempt to escape or brave enough to try and fight, but if the thief could escape, the mer wouldn’t begrudge him. 

Just when it seemed as if he would make it, dodging arrows as if the guiding hand of a god was pushing him along, a bladed projectile shot through the air and with a meaty thud buried itself in the man’s shoulder. 

Immediately he screamed, falling forward and writhing in the dirt before stiffening. Paralyzing poison. He felt disappointed, if only because of the ugly look of cruel satisfaction flashing on the Captains face as the thief was retrieved and dragged roughly between two soldiers to the line of prisoners at the chopping block. The mer’s eyes didn’t stray from the dazed look of pain in the thief’s eyes until the soldier holding the damned piece of paper spoke.

“You there.” The dark haired Altmer slowly turned his head, staring at the thief until the movement made it impossible. Only then did the unblinking amber eyes that stared with an intensity almost reptilian meet the disturbed gaze of the imperial soldier. “Step forward.”

With slow measured steps that had several swords drawn, he made his way forward. Stopping at a distance that could be crossed in a few short strides if the Altmer so choose and staring down at the man. To maintain eye contact, the other was forced to look up, something that the Altmer knew annoyed him due to his lips pressing together. “Who, are you?”

The elf frowned, for the first time fully breaking the impassive look of dismissal that was the default expression that the Altmer had worn since waking without his memories. Despite the situation, he didn’t betray his calm façade by revealing how fearful he was and merely turned his head to give the man a sideways stare.

“Fahliil.”


	2. SGA Wraith Hybrid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Lantean/Luntean dissatisfied with how the war is going tries to do something about it. Some time passes and a woman goes to bed as a human and wakes up as a Wraith hybrid is Ancient laboratory with only a A.I. of the one that put her in the Virtual Reality there to speak with.

She didn’t wake up slowly, stuck in that place halfway between sleep and wakefulness. It wasn’t disorienting quick or jarring either. She simply opened her eyes to darkness and sat up, staring with passive disbelief at the stasis pod she had just been ejected from. Awake and lucid with the clear impression that the last nineteen or so years of her life was nothing more than an elaborate dream crafted from visions and stray memories and molded into a fabricated illusion so convincing…

A buildup of energy snapped her from her turmoil, which she forced aside. She looked up just in time to see a familiar image shimmer into existence around a hovering metallic sphere. She had never been told his name, the scientist to absorbed in his work to even begin to think of sharing something not remotely related to his work. 

The Luntean used to mutter constantly yet incoherently as he focused on symbols scrolling along the luminous blue interface not even seeming to ever notice the dim awareness in her eyes while she lay supine on the examination table. She was unable to do anything more than watch him whenever he deigned to bring her out of the false reality, only to submerge her once again after satisfying himself with the latest tweaking of her genetics or collection of samples to test.

His hair was the still a matted mess of neglected white curls, matching the age displayed in pale blue eyes set in a smooth youthful face at odds with the air of age surrounding him. For a moment, the image flickered before the eyes focused with a familiar blank intensity that always had her checking for any intrusions into her mind. There were none, it was simply a hard-light hologram, a sophisticated piece of Luntean technology. The light smooth tones of Luntean flowed from the hologram. The words themselves were blunt, and emerging from his torso instead of his mouth.

“Empress Acknowledged. I am The Oþer, an Uploaded Intelligence based of the scanned consciousness belonging to the Scientist known by the name Antonius. According to current logs, approximately 9,000 T years have passed since the departure of the Antonius’s, my last activation, and your subsequent placement into suspended animation.” The projection tilted its head minutely, eyes unblinking and piercing. “From the amount of time that has passed and the current energy levels of the Potentia, I must conclude that the original Antonius has ascended, perished, or otherwise prevented from returning to evaluate my success with you.”

She wasn’t sure how she felt about that and simply said nothing to fill the following silence that stretched. The Oþer was seemingly content to wait and fine with her slowly processing the foreign sensation of simply being aware of herself and the ability to move. Inhaling the stale recycled air, Empress swayed from side to side wiggling her fingers and toes simply because for once, she could.

Her body was familiar yet foreign, nothing like the one she had grown used to and believed to be hers while wandering in the cleverly constructed virtual reality. It had the same shape of a standard humanoid, with some modifications and extra appendages. The inside of her mouth from careful poking of her tongue was mostly the same, but with a folded set of long pincers behind her incisors, which could pass as just unusually pointy. 

Her skin was covered in an incredibly thin smooth flexible exoskeleton a light brown color not unlike the one she was familiar with in the VR, but with faint noticeable purple tinge. Her forearms were different in texture as well as a color, changing abruptly to a bright yellow fish like ridged scales from her elbows, to the ends of her elongated fingers tipped with dark curved nails.

Her feet and shins had the same plating as her forearms and were lengthier for digitigrade movement with three forward facing digits and two opposing dewclaws on either side. She had no navel or any visible anatomy a female of human or wraith origin would have, though a thin layer of yellow scales circled around her lower back to shield her torso. 

Looking slightly behind her Empress stared at the delicate green membranes spread out from beneath the hard-bronze shell cover and further down the long slender tail like extension from her spine. It swayed at a thought, precisely as she desired to, yet the wing like structure merely extended with a leathery fwap, or folded under their shell covering.

“if you were curious, as much as they may appear to be so, you do not have wings. Merely, Antonius adapted the vestigial muscles that you inherited from Iratus to support a symbiotic plant adapted to your unique biology.” She glanced up to see the hologram smile faintly with a distant expression of satisfaction. “The silver sheen is due to the nanites acting as reinforcement and boosted efficiency. Antonius thought it would be best that your back up energy source was further protected considering the alternative was for you to seek out a high vantage point to recharge by lightning strikes. While the nanites are currently in hibernation, they will awaken once you activate them or if you’re are injured in a manner you cannot regenerate from without…assistance.”

She stared for a moment trying and failing to come up with an explanation as to why she would seek being stuck by lightning. Absently she noticed from the corner of her eye that her hair was white, and curly. Running her hands through it, she held several strands far enough to get a better view before dropping it with a slight frown. She missed her brown hair.

“I still don’t understand why you did all… this.”

Waving her hand to gesture at herself, the consul attached responsible for her two decades long relatively speaking false life, to the wall her pod had emerged from, and the lab in general. Her voice was another change, odd and unlike how she expected. Smooth and flowing with a dual humming undertone as if she was humming what she was saying, or singing with her mouth closed. It was almost musical in a way, but entirely unlike the simulated voice she once had.

Our own voices sound odd to us when we hear a recording because when we listen to ourselves speaking, our voices vibrate in our heads. Cool huh? She couldn’t recall who had said that. It seemed so small and unimportant when everything she had known had was a lie…

“We were losing, very badly. One by one our ships were destroyed, our outpost conquered, and worlds overrun. The wraith where persistent and unlike anything we had ever faced in battle, another plague of another galaxy we were powerless to stop. The War took its toll and moral fell when the… Asuran as they called themselves where found lacking despite their capabilities.” 

The hologram’s brows furrowed as if questioning the decision but was otherwise motionless. 

“I along with some others disagreed with the council, though as far as I am aware I was the only one who not only planned, but took steps to see to it that our people did not fade away. Of course, proclaiming my plans would have been foolish and anyone with a modicum of intelligence would follow my example and work in secret.”t

Despite herself She felt the muscles on the left side of her face flex is an aborted grin. The hologram gracefully ignored her raised brow and continued speaking once finished with its smug reminiscing.

“Ha-hem, as I was saying, I had the brilliant idea of preserving Lunteans by creating a race created in our image-” The projection wavered for a moment.” … Well a… successor race with Lunteans as its foundation and add-ons borrowed from other races, including Furling, Wraith, Asgard, Nox, and some lesser evolved species with some rather useful adaptations integrated into the project. It wasn’t easy to collect many of the samples, especially the two Asgard samples. Your resistance to radiation actually came from various species of plants found in this galaxy and your immunity to wraith feeding some unique trait some unique proteins discovered in some humans.”

For the first time the projection moved, pacing as he spoke, hands gesturing in emphasis as he continued explaining his thought process. Empress idly practiced folding and unfolding her leafy green extensions but paying attention enough to nod and hum in places she could vaguely recall as socially appropriate.

“This project began to rise in importance more and more as other options failed, or deemed inefficient, too far, or against the council’s wishes. Though that Artero project would have been perfect but no-o-o, a couple dozen planets wiped of the map and Hoc recte necesse non est he says. As if he cares about a measly hundred thousand humans dying. Just disable the Astria porta would have easily prevented any trouble. If I was Janus and had to deal with Moros on a regular basis-“ 

The projection froze for several seconds before vanishing in a shatter of light, leaving behind the hovering metallic sphere that housed the intelligence. With a hum, the image of Antonius returned expression bland but eyes shifting from side to side and lips pressed into a thin line. If she didn’t know any better…

“ Ha-hem, as I was saying, Antonius had long before realized that as a race the Lunteans had lost. There were few outposts left, most of our ships were lost, destroyed, or were too few in number to make a difference. All that was truly left was Atlantus, it was their Last Stand. For all the advantages against the Wraith we had, the Lunteans had doomed themselves to eventual extinction. So, he decided that if the Council couldn’t or wouldn’t do anything, he would. Starting with creating an assistant as a sounding board.

We began with a biological weapon, seeing as technology failed. A predator more powerful than the wraith yet passive enough to not replace them was the first plan we went with. There was mixed success, especially the Tyrant lizards, a bit too predatory, they considered anything remotely humanoid that moved a tasty little snack to run down. Amusing to watch them tromp along with their big heads and little arms. Anyway, Antonius still had that itch to try something. Once the plan to evacuate Atlantus started getting thrown around he realized what that more was, which is where you came in.

She must have made her confusion obvious as The Oþer rolled his head back and forth and made a dismissive hand gesture.

Well not you, you were hardly the first Empress, the 84th in fact. The first dozen or so were quite Luntean in appearance, barely any outward differences, but that doesn’t truly answer anything does it. Truthfully? All this was because I could. Lunteans were arrogant Antonius and to a lesser extent... myself included. Their passive aggressiveness would end up with them dying off anyway, why shouldn’t I make a race that would succeed them and learn from their mistakes? Antonius… didn’t quite agree, however he refused to resort to more persuasive means of ceasing my activities. We parted ways on agreeable terms.”

The Oþer had an odd not quite grimace on his face despite his words, making her wonder how agreeable their parting of ways truly was, or what kind of persuasion the Lunteans could have tried. It didn’t seem a pleasant topic so instead she decided to ask something else to fill the silence.

“...Is that it?”

The look on the holograms face couldn’t be more exasperate, or convey the question: What more do you want?’ any better. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but The Oþer didn’t seem to be deceptive or, purposely holding anything back.

“What happens now then?”

“What happens now indeed?” The Oþer repeated with a thoughtful yet absent minded hum. 

The white-haired projection tilted his head from side to side before giving a brief full body flicker. “Now, you have a decision to make. This all began because I wished to provide the Lunteans assistance in the War, however it was made clear to me that such help was… shall we say unwelcomed after Antonius and my disagreement. Your relative stable mentality ensured I did not erase your mental pattern from my data banks. Your awakening because the power levels of this base have fallen to below optimal levels. I am… content with what I have accomplished. The appropriate question dear Empress, is what is it that you want to happen.”


End file.
